


The Thirteenth Hour

by tormalyne



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Axel and Roxas' Excellent Adventure, Axel tries hard to be a smartass, M/M, Roxas rescues himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-15
Updated: 2012-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-05 10:18:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tormalyne/pseuds/tormalyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They make it as far as the portal hidden in the old mansion, Roxas a limp, heavy weight over Axel’s shoulder, before the world’s master intervenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thirteenth Hour

**Author's Note:**

> Pure, unadulterated wish fulfillment fixit fic. Many thanks to Libek for the beta.
> 
> Old fic is also super old.

He steals Roxas away in the dead of Twilight Town’s half-night, lifting the boy’s body from his bed without having him wake or even stir.  Axel would think he’s carrying a still-warm corpse if it weren’t for Roxas’ soft mutterings and the rapid movement of his eyes under their closed lids while he dreams.  
  
Knowing what he does, Axel thinks the dreaming is far worse.  
  
They make it as far as the portal hidden in the old mansion, Roxas a limp, heavy weight over Axel’s shoulder, before the world’s master intervenes.  
  
“It is nonexistent. It will not escape its fate,” DiZ intones, an implacable presence if not for a seething thread of anger -- that a mere nothing has come to intrude upon his domain?  Over DiZ’s shoulder, Axel can see the ghostly shape of one of the pods where Sora and his friends sleep.  
  
“I won’t let you _kill_ him,” Axel snaps, and carefully sets Roxas down before spreading his arms, calling fire and blistering, whirling wind.  He sends wave after dizzying, ineffective wave of flame at the man in red, until it is all he can do to stand between DiZ and Roxas, slumped and motionless on the floor, offering up his own body as sacrifice and shield.  
  
Axel kneels, bent over and spinning, or the room is, and he can barely see past the throbbing lodged deep behind his eyes and the dull, hollow ache in his chest he thinks would be despair if he had a heart to feel it.  DiZ’s red robes aren’t even singed, haven’t moved a scant inch out of place.  
  
 _Those without_ , he thinks, screaming laughter in his own head, _cannot affect the world created within the strongest heart of all._  
  
The sharp click of a lock being undone breaks the silence between each of his panted, gasping breaths, and he lifts his head to see-- Roxas.  _Roxas_ with gleaming black blade raised, before everything turns into light and shrill, screeching sound that claws into his bones –

 

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0  
0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0  
0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0  
0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0  
0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

  
–  the shattering of a cage made from nothing at all.  
  
By the time the blank white light resolves itself into dim reality, he can manage to struggle his way off the floor, if not completely upright.  There’s no trace of DiZ or the desperate burn scars of his flames, only two doorways and banks of blank-screened computers softly humming in the still, chill air.  
  
Roxas already stands with one foot in the open maw of a dark corridor, about to step through.  Curling wisps of shadow twine around his feet and halo his fist clenched painfully tight on the hilt of the keyblade.  He doesn’t look back, but Axel doesn’t mind.  He’s sure there’s nothing like gratitude in Roxas’ eyes anyway.  
  
Roxas waits, though, lets Axel stumble over to his side before he turns, using his free hand to grasp the lapel of Axel’s coat.  He leans up to kiss Axel and his lack of smile is as brilliant as every false grin he'd given to that world ( _had stolen by that world_ ), day after false day.  
  
“My heart belongs to _me_ ,” Roxas whispers fierce against Axel’s lips, and in that moment, it doesn’t matter to either of them that now, he will never be complete.  
  


* * *

They travel a mad dash through the corridor, jumping between worlds without pause, a flicker of sea, then tundra, then towering cliffs; it would be stupid to assume DiZ will give up his plans so easily and foolish to think Sora’s knight won’t already be chasing behind.

Roxas finally allows Axel to stagger and drop to his knees when they exit into a world all sand and sun and rippling, oily heat sinking into Axel’s bones like a balm. It’s as good a place to rest as any and Roxas grabs Axel by the elbow, hauling him over to the shade on the lee side of a dune.  He doesn’t even stiffen when Axel rests his pounding head on Roxas’ knee and Axel’d thought for sure he’d be sent sprawling for a move like that.

Darkness still lingers sharp and bitter in the back of Axel’s throat, a thick, cloying scent that slowly burns away with each deep breath he takes of the scorched air. The last twisting shadows reluctantly fade from Roxas’ clothes, from the hand still white-knuckled on Oblivion’s hilt, vanishing with little more than a few susurrating sighs.

Axel drifts for a while, barely lucid and unable to move even if he had the inclination, soaking in the bone-melting warmth. Each time his eyes flutter open the golden desert stares back, smeared through heat-haze.  Roxas’ hand grips the collar of Axel’s coat so tightly that the fabric chokes him if he tries to move.

When Axel finally comes back to something resembling awareness, Roxas is still sitting under him rock-still, alert if ragged from the heat, his bright hair a mess and breathing a little shallow.

Axel pushes himself off Roxas’ knee and up onto his elbows with only a little hitch of breath.  He pastes on his best bastard of a leer.

“Nice little vacation spot you had there,” he says, letting the smirk drip from the drawl of his voice, like he didn’t care, hadn’t been planning how to take that whole fake world out with him. “I hear the beach's great this time of year.”

The fury that ignites in Roxas’ eyes is so sudden and bright Axel thinks it could burn even him to ash, and he grins so fiercely into it that it hurts.  Roxas yanks him up by the hold on his coat and Axel drags a little over a dip in the sand, can’t even wipe away the frankly embarrassing expression with blood from his bitten tongue.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Roxas says, so cold and detached that Axel can almost feel the freezing bite of each word, but Roxas doesn’t shove off the arm Axel drapes over his shoulders to keep on his feet.

“Seems like I can’t help it,” Axel answers, and figures it’s fair not to tease that Roxas’s gone soft on him if Roxas doesn’t mention how his fingers are squeezing Roxas’ upper arm hard enough to bruise.

He lets Roxas pick a direction after a few minutes squinting between the world’s two furiously burning suns and they start walking.  It’s as good a way to go as anything else, and Roxas, at least, seems to have figured things out.  Axel’s not surprised when after a while, it leads them to what Roxas wants.

* * *

Neither of them has visited this world before, but it’s easy enough to find a place to stay in the sandstone-walled city where no one asks any questions for the right flicker of slightly manic quickfire grin and sharply unamused blue eyes that accompanies almost the last of the munny Axel digs from a pocket in his coat.  Dastardly organizations tended not to worry about things like payment when worlds fell to darkness wherever they went.

The streets of the central bazaar crowd tight with the noisy mess of merchants hawking their wares at passers-by and the stink of sweat, a constant press of human traffic that drifts up and in through the inn room’s window even in the coolness of the night.  They share a bed, not for any sense of intimacy, but by unspoken agreement that one of them will stay awake to keep watch.

Morning sun paints Roxas pale, fragile white gold and frigid ice on the dark fabric of the sheets when he opens his eyes.  Axel’d make some crooning remark about filigree and ocean jewels, but even for him, it’s too early to actively seek out blunt-force trauma.

“You could go back,” Roxas says with a pointed glare, but he doesn’t wait for the reply Axel isn’t going to give.

Axel watches from his seat by the window as Roxas slides from the bed and pulls on his dusty clothes, openly admiring the smooth expanse of Roxas’ skin.  It’s not like Roxas isn’t expecting the leering grin or the faint hunger Axel hasn’t ever quite bothered to hide.

Axel thinks that maybe, he doesn’t have to hold back anymore.  Betraying the guys who were going to get his heart back and nearly burning himself out to get his ass kicked by some creeper in a mummy wrap aren’t exactly the best ways to keep Roxas from figuring out he means a lot more to Axel than being a Somebody again.

* * *

Breakfast is five minutes at one of the awning-covered stands Axel’d been staring at from their window all night: four for Roxas to distract the vendor with the lost kitten act of his wide, distant eyes and the rest for him to jab Axel in the ribs when it looks like he’ll waste time taking more than just a few pieces of flaky, honey-smeared tarts.

“This whole dangerous fugitive, wanted-dead-or-alive thing isn’t so bad,” Axel says brightly around a mouthful of sticky pastry and the unavoidable grit of sand.  “Why, I think this might be the closest to a date we’ve ever had!”

Roxas slants him an annoyed glare and doesn’t deign to answer until they reach a tented doorway, the illegible banner above it displaying shears and a blob that might be meant to represent a dress.  Roxas leads Axel inside and points to one of the draped-off stalls lining one wall of the shop.

“Strip.”

Axel blinks for a moment and scratches at the back of his head just to relish the knife-edge of Roxas’ scowl.

“Well, I dunno. This is awfully sudden, don’t you think?  I mean, sure, there’s the novelty of discovery, but _I_ might not be into that whole getting caught with your pants down thing...”

He has plenty of time to nurse the new bruise on his arm while Roxas stalks away to speak quietly to the hunched, elderly woman minding the business, gesturing impatiently back toward Axel, and returning to dump a stack of clothing into Axel’s arms that nearly reaches the top of his head.

Axel looks down at the pile, dismayed.  “Is all this really necessary?  I mean, it’s always nice to buy clothes for that special someone in your heart – oh, _wait_.”

Roxas hits him again, right over the bruise.  He has that look on his face that says _you are an idiot and too stupid to live_ and usually leads to someone, usually Axel, getting his ass kicked.

“I know,” Roxas says coolly, “that you’re already perfectly aware of what will happen when someone shows up and asks ‘hey, have you seen this guy running around the desert in a completely practical and not at all out of the ordinary black coat?’”

Axel ends up in something loose and flowy and hand-spun soft, less than the full royal getup the proprietor first suggests but still fine enough to last for a decent while, with far less black than he’d like.  It’s not that he’s particularly attached to the color, but there’s something about the certain way people react to a looming figure all in striking, severe black that he’s going to miss.  Roxas, he’s cacklingly delighted to see, has been dressed to match.  
  
They pay with the last of Axel’s munny (it’s faster and easier, and by the time Axel finishes trying everything on, Roxas is standing very still in the excruciatingly controlled way that means he’s just about run out of patience) and step out into the harsh sunlight of the streets.  
  
“Where to, oh fearless leader?” Axel asks with a sardonic little twist to his lips, shaking out the draping wrap of his new shirt and lifting one hand to shield his eyes from the sun.  
  
Roxas shrugs faintly under his own new cloak, barely a lift of one shoulder, and heads off down a narrow street, imperiously certain that Axel will follow.

Axel does.  For now, this is enough.


End file.
